The March Of The Elephants

The March Of The Elephants

- Vivek Menon

Elephants have a way of walking that displays their incipient mood. They tramp through bamboo culms seeking tender relishes hidden amidst tangled clumps. They amble through lush grasslands, kicking a tuft every now and then, after the first monsoon rains have ensured a new carpet for them to feed on. A family group seems to saunter when at peace. A lone bull in musth, testosterone staining his face, strides up to his choice female with a rather more determined gait. Once his courtship is accepted, the two promenade languorously in between bouts of mating.

The family’s gait changes when they are about to start a long journey from one habitat to another. The stroll now picks up pace as they troop in single file. The ramble turns to a heavy definitive trudge as they shift home and hearth for the season. As the journey enters human habitation, they tiptoe, swallowing air and sniffing at unknown menacing scents. They feel their way around obstacles, like a toddler moving around the fear of new and unknown playthings.

As the family crosses a road or a rail track there is a tentative air to the walk. The matriarch stops, then treads in slow, measured steps, watching and sensing movements and threats before venturing onto tar. The herd follows her instinctively and when the coast is clear and the matriarch has crossed, the family stumbles across in a sudden rush of frenzy. The rush lasts only till the cool earth on the other side is felt under their spongy pads. Almost instantly they slow, and if there is no threat, a little bit of comfort-feeding replaces the panic of a moment ago.